What's Left Unspoken
by GloriousBlackout
Summary: Gamora's aware that Peter loves her. Though it scares her, she thinks she's starting to love him too. The hard part is admitting it.


Gamora has a habit of fixating on the little things; the small quirks that make a person who they are.

It's a survival technique she's had drilled into her since she was ten years old. One in her position should be able to tell if the movement of a person's eyes gives any hint as to where they're going to strike next, if the muscle contracting in their jaw indicates a lie, or whether their relaxed manner is betrayed by a slight tension gripping their body. Noticing these details may be more suited to staying alive in combat or rooting out a trap before it can be unleashed, but the habit of looking for them is hard to shake, and there are times where she will find herself quietly assessing her new team to find out what makes them tick.

Drax is the easiest to read. As he's learned to adapt to his new family, his guarded nature has faded to a surprising openness. He smiles easily at anything that even slightly amuses him and he will observe conversations with a curiosity that is almost childlike, trying to sort through the metaphors and obscure references with difficulty.

Gamora has learned to be wary when delight grips Drax in its warm hands. It tends to mean a battle is near.

Rocket and Groot, she takes as a pairing seeing as the two are rarely apart. The sapling has only recently grown to the extent where he can leave his pot, and despite being warned to avoid certain areas of the ship – namely the places where Rocket seems to have built his thousandth bomb – such warnings fall on deaf ears as the child runs, climbs and dances throughout the ship as if it's his playground. He's also easy to read considering he's too young to know when to hide his emotions and, though it's foolish of her, Gamora feels a warm smile come to her own face whenever large brown eyes widen in wonder at something new or capture her in an adoring gaze. She's not entirely sure how to feel about the fact that a very young child has latched onto her, but she does make an effort to never act coldly towards Groot.

The same can't be said for Rocket who, to be fair, has a habit of earning whatever coldness and/or biting anger she throws his way. If there's anyone on the ship who can match her in terms of guarding himself, it's the thief. Anytime it seems he's getting too comfortable among his new family, he makes it his obligation to start an argument or find some way to drag them all into trouble – mainly by stealing stuff he doesn't even need.

She wonders if he's as afraid of this new attachment they've all formed as she is and is just a lot worse at hiding it. She would chalk it up to him being an arrogant asshole if she hadn't noticed the longing that crosses his face whenever they have a few calm, uneventful hours to simply enjoy each other's company.

The details she picks up on her team-mates are little more than data she can file away and refer to whenever any of them act out of character. It's a way to figure out when Groot's feeling sad or Drax restless or Rocket irritable when they won't simply come out and admit as much themselves. For the most part, their quirks are not something she becomes fixated on in the moments where she has the luxury of time to do so.

And then there's Peter.

Gamora wishes the ways in which she studies him were as simple and detached as the way she studies the others, but she cannot lie to herself. Not convincingly anyway.

She learns this during the first few weeks, when minute details such as the way Peter's eyes crinkle when he's caught in a genuine laugh, or the way he privately sings under his breath if the others are asleep linger in her mind longer than they should. She starts to notice details that will likely never be useful but make something in her heart clench regardless; the flicker of hope in his eyes whenever he offers her a dance (and the open delight on the occasions she accepts); how any protective barriers he's put in place will crumble as soon as he has enough alcohol in him, and childhood stories come pouring forth; the irritating satisfaction that grips him whenever she's forced to ask about some reference he knows she can't possibly understand.

She notices the weak smile that pulls at his lips whenever his mother is mentioned and the slight tension that grips him if anyone brings up the father he doesn't know, and though it frustrates her that her mind lingers so fully on these tiny details, that never stops her from wanting to know more.

It's dangerous to become so fixated on one person. Growing attached to others has only ever brought her pain, and was always something Thanos actively discouraged. Her father was cruel and vicious, but his teachings have kept her alive when so many have died around her, and she wonders if that's something she should cling to as a reminder that letting her heart rule her feelings towards Quill is unwise.

Such thoughts are always shattered whenever he extends a hand - soft music playing in the background and the others asleep in their cabins - and she accepts and sways clumsily in his arms in a manner she hopes resembles dancing. She makes a conscious effort to keep her expression steady, even neutral, but she cannot lie to herself and deny that her heart quickens when she looks into his eyes and sees his own adoration projected so openly. His own heart races too – she can almost hear his pulse hammering beneath his skin – but she doesn't mention it and for the most part he doesn't push either. Even his hold on her is gentle, giving her a means to escape if she feels uncomfortable, regardless of his own wants.

There's an element of choice in their pairing that she's unused to, one she imagines will have her hiding her feelings far longer than either of them would like. She'll sometimes find herself staring at his face as they dance and doesn't quite know how to process the way he seems both longing and contented, and she imagines it would be a lot easier to study him if he were simply another target she were trying to kill.

He isn't though. After all they've been through these past months, she will never be able to see him in such a simple light again.

Gods damn him.

Gamora's always the first to break away from the dance, and that brief flicker of disappointment in his eyes is yet another detail she ends up filing away for no discernible reason.

Peter casually brings up their 'unspoken thing' not long after their first dance on the ship, and cold fear grips her heart as she wonders whether he's starting to understand her more than she understands herself.

* * *

Intimacy in any form is something that has left her scarred, she won't deny it.

The love she shared with her parents had only made their deaths more brutal and the delight Thanos had taken in making her watch all the more sickening. Hardening her heart in the aftermath had become an endless chore – a quest she set herself to ensure that she was never hurt so terribly again – but she doubts it's a skill she's ever fully mastered.

Certainly, she developed it enough to convince her oppressors that the creature they created was perfect. She has let coldness consume her while cutting down targets enough times to wonder if a heart still resides within her chest.

Any illusion that she doesn't care shattered the moment she chose Xandar's survival over loyalty to Thanos, however, and it has only melted further as she grows more comfortable around her team.

Before Peter and Groot wormed their way into her heart – before Drax and Rocket's antics were met with a confusing mix of both irritation and fondness – there was only Nebula. Any warmth they once shared seems like a half-forgotten dream, but Gamora still finds herself missing it on the rare occasions where the thought of her sister brings nostalgia rather than regret.

She can remember the nights, back when Thanos's horde of children shared one large room, where she would lie on cold sheets and listen to the younger girl stifle her sobs a few beds away. Gamora's own pain stung just as sharply but she had more experience in hiding it by then, though not enough to ignore the crying of another. Carefully, she'd aim a glance at the window to ensure the guards were yet to arrive, then creep out of bed and make her way over to Nebula's, announcing her arrival with a soft hand on the other's shoulder before climbing in beside her.

Their beds were barely large enough to fit one person but somehow they made it work; Gamora wrapping her arms around Nebula's trembling frame until her tension slowly eased. When the other girl lifted her head, Gamora would wipe away her tears and adorn what she hoped was a comforting smile, and for a moment they could pretend they wouldn't have to fight again come morning.

Sometimes Nebula would have fresh scars littering her body or a new cybernetic device embedded in her skin, as their masters tried to fashion her into the weapon they needed her to be. Gamora could never blame her sister whenever a broken _"I don't want to fight again,"_ escaped between silent sobs.

" _We don't have to,"_ Gamora'd respond, trying to smile despite knowing her words were meaningless. " _Let's kill them all and run away."_

Nebula would giggle, sounding for a moment like the eight-year-old she truly was, before huddling closer to Gamora and tightening her embrace. " _We can't. Thanos will find us."_

" _I know,"_ Gamora would respond, her heart clenching with dread at the knowledge that their situation was not one that allowed for a clean escape.

There was rarely a need to say much else after that. She would hold Nebula until her sobs quietened or she drifted into sleep, and always kept one eye fixed on the window in case the guards came early. She'd been in Thanos's clutches long enough to know their routine inside-out but, though they rarely strayed, it never hurt to be careful.

As the minute of their arrival approached, she would press a soft kiss to Nebula's forehead – a bitter contrast to the bruises she'd be forced to leave come morning – and crawl to the loneliness of her own bed before they could be caught together. Comfort was not something that was encouraged. Should Thanos find out that his favourite daughter helped lull her rival into sleep, he would be sure to make his distaste known.

Regardless of whether they were caught or not, such opportunities were robbed from them in the end anyway.

The number of girls in their dormitory started to dwindle with time until all that remained was herself and Nebula. Gamora had barely seen her eleventh nameday by the time she was given a tiny room of her own, and her only opportunities to see her sister came in the form of training sessions observed by their monster of a father. Over the years, she was forced to watch as the scared little girl whose tears she would brush away was twisted into a creature of hate; as more of her body was replaced with machinery to the point where it was unclear whether any flesh remained. Any innocence in Nebula's face was robbed from her, and her painfully slow transformation had broken the heart Gamora had tried so desperately to defend.

Even now, months after fleeing Thanos's control, her fear of intimacy lingers like a disease. The last person Gamora dared let herself love was altered into something unrecognisable and that's a lesson she cannot forget. Sometimes she considers leaving the Guardians – leaving Peter - to spare them from this fate should Thanos decide to hunt her down, though it's never a plan she allows herself to dwell on.

As selfish as it is, she's not sure she could bear to be without her team now that she's let herself get too close.

It doesn't take long for an image to plant itself in her brain. One of Peter with green eyes replaced with empty black, a curved line in his skull where Thanos has planted circuits in his brain, and a cybernetic arm replacing flesh. She wakes more than once to the phantom sensation of metal fingers tightening around her neck, and has to seek out Peter simply to remind herself that he's whole and that the hatred her exhausted mind remembers has yet to appear on his face.

"Something up?" he asks one evening from the pilot-seat, his attention stolen from the outside view by her silent presence at his back. By this point, Gamora has been sat in her own chair for several minutes, not having bothered to announce her presence, and her mind feels so heavy that it takes a while for his question to sink in.

"It's nothing," she says, perhaps unconvincingly, but when she doesn't elaborate he simply gives her a small smile before returning his attention to the view.

They're travelling through an especially beautiful quadrant of the galaxy in which five planets lie perfectly aligned, their green foliage seeming to glitter under the light of a distant red sun. They are uninhabited by any lifeforms they'd ever need to do business with and there's no technology worth justifying a trip to their surface, but a part of her still yearns to walk through their dense forests and hear the songs of the creatures residing within.

Gamora wonders if that pointless wish has arisen because the greenery reminds her of home.

That uncomfortable thought is one that drags her attention back to Peter, which does little to make her feel better. All the sight of him achieves is the reminder of the broken creature Thanos will turn him into, assuming he isn't killed before her eyes like the rest of her family. Try as she might, nothing erases the pain that mental image causes, and she can only curse her own heart for letting herself grow attached when she fully knows the repercussions of doing so.

At the very least, she can promise herself that she won't let Thanos destroy Peter piece by piece. Should the titan ever catch up to them, she can kill Peter and the others herself and rob her father of more brutal means to shatter her heart.

As much as she hopes it won't come to that, she knows it would be foolish not to consider the possibility and plan accordingly.

They've jumped into another quadrant by the time Peter switches the Milano to autopilot and rises from his seat, absently rubbing the tiredness from his eyes. When he turns, he seems surprised to find Gamora still there, silently watching him in a manner that should probably be more unnerving than it is, but despite the horrors preying on her mind she can't help but respond to the lame smile that appears on his face with one of her own.

She decides he doesn't need to know what she intends to do should Thanos ever find them. Discussing the matter will simply expose her feelings more than she already has, and she feels raw enough already without pouring more salt on her wounds.

* * *

Gamora starts to believe she can live with this 'unspoken thing' brewing between herself and Peter. Leaving it unspoken is always going to be unsatisfying on some level, but they know each other well enough to appreciate the warmth they share regardless of whether they openly acknowledge it or not. And besides, Peter probably appreciates the freedom it gives him to chat up any pretty creature he stumbles upon during drunken nights out.

Admittedly, he wanders off with a stranger far less than Gamora expects him to, considering his reputation. If anything, it's often Rocket and Groot who are the ones late back to the ship, and that's only because they tend to pull off a minimum of three heists while the rest of them celebrate a job well done in a seedy bar.

(Perhaps leadership has forced Peter to grow out of his womanising phase)

She's almost able to convince herself that calling Peter her family under the same banner she uses to describe the others is enough, no matter how loudly her heart protests. Even that is the closest connection she's shared with anyone since she was a child – a connection she's still not sure she deserves – and if her eyes linger a little too long on Peter's face or body when he isn't looking, well, that's bound to be something she'll grow out of.

And then the business with the Sovereign happens, and she's forced to reunite with the broken reminder of the last person she called family.

Then there's Ego, who just leaves her wondering if the galaxy actively hates her and everyone she cares about.

By the end of the whole sorry ordeal, the heart she's tried so desperately to defend feels like a shredded ruin. The physical exhaustion of fighting everything from her sister to a megalomaniacal _planet_ seems to have made a permanent home in her bones, and she doubts any member of her team are even close to 'okay' on an emotional scale. Her own mind is still reeling from the aftershocks of terror, tracing back to the discovery of all those children in the caverns, and she's nearly lost Peter far too many times today. She's seen his chest impaled by blue light and his ship explode before her eyes, and only hours ago she'd awoken on a ship hovering above what was once Ego, immobilised by pain that was only partly explained by the electricity that felled her.

She understands why Rocket did what he did, truly she does, but that hadn't stopped liquid rage from pooling in her veins once she woke up. Had Peter not appeared as a floating blip on the ship's computers, she doubts she'd ever have been able to look at the smaller creature again.

It's a bitter reminder of how close she's come to losing her family in the last few days.

(Perhaps it's fitting that Nebula is with them now, so she can be faced with the broken remains of everyone her love has helped destroy)

Peter, when they pick him up, looks the way she feels. Like a child, he clings to her as soon as they're able to peel the spacesuit off him and Kraglin gently takes Yondu from his arms, and any reservations she may have about holding him vanishes as her own grip tightens. That they aren't crushing each other in their desperation is a miracle, and she tries to steady her breathing to encourage him to do the same while she rubs lazy circles on his back.

Gamora can't tell how long they sit in the airlock with their friends hovering nearby – their joy at seeing their leader alive numbed by the state they've found him in. It's Peter who pulls away in the end, and he doesn't bother to hide his exhaustion as green eyes meet hers. She wipes a stray tear from his cheek and helps him rise to his feet, before guiding him towards a bench in the ship's tiny mess hall. Given that their aches and pains would likely leave them uncomfortable even on a soft bed, Gamora can't bring herself to complain about the hard surface of the bench, and she remains dutifully awake even as Peter starts to drift with his head resting on her shoulder.

It's the first time she hasn't flinched away from any form of intimacy with him. If anything, she finds that she has no wish to let him go, and as she places a gentle hand over his wrist, she lets the strong pulse soothe her into calm. Despite everything that's been thrown at them over the last few days, they're still alive.

A little broken, perhaps, but alive.

Gamora must slip into sleep herself for she's startled awake by Groot climbing onto her shoulder, releasing a small yawn before drifting off himself. Peter's still dozing, though one look at his face shows that his sleep is anything but restful. She squeezes his hand before wrapping an arm around his shoulders to pull him close, eliciting a soft sigh on his part, and though rest evades her, she finds she has no desire to move. Doing so would probably only succeed in making her tortured cybernetics creak in protest anyway.

They get four hours. Four hours of blissful nothingness where only the deep rumble of the ship can interrupt them and any responsibilities beyond the metal hull no longer matter. It's far too little time and she mourns its passing when Peter rouses and decides he should get up, breaking the illusion that the three of them can remain cuddled up forever without a care in the world. Despite these foolish hopes, she rises herself after ensuring Groot won't fall from her shoulder, and she follows Peter through the corridors of a ship that once formed part of his home.

It is strange to see a Ravager ship so quiet. Gamora can almost imagine that the halls hold nothing but ghosts.

Yondu's funeral is a quiet affair. Whether the man would have appreciated that or not, she cannot say, but she remains respectfully silent while Peter speaks and rests a supportive hand on his shoulder when his eyes become tearful. She won't pretend to have known the Ravager captain well, nor had she ever thought of him particularly favourably, but he gave his life to save Peter's and had apparently been keeping him safe from Ego since he was a child. For that, she will always be grateful to him.

Besides, Yondu grew to care for the boy he ended up raising whether he liked the idea or not. That alone puts him leagues above Thanos and Ego in terms of father-figures.

When she sees Nebula sidle away from the room without a word, Gamora finds herself following in the childish hope that she can convince her sister to stay. She knows it's futile to ask before the request even leaves her mouth, but she owes Nebula the invitation at least. Perhaps the day will come when she feels capable of accepting it.

When she embraces her sister for the first time since they were children, her heart twists in her chest.

Gamora doesn't miss the tension that grips Nebula's slender frame – any touch that isn't aiming to hurt a foreign entity to her – but she can feel her slowly return the hug. They should have had more of this over the years; should have been able to find comfort in each other instead of pain. That it's taken them this long to regain an echo of the relationship they once had has Gamora wishing she could join her sister on her quest to tear Thanos to pieces.

"You will always be my sister," she says, reminding herself of that as much as the woman in her arms, and she tries to ignore how it feels like a limb has been torn from her body when Nebula walks away.

They will meet again, once Thanos is dead at Nebula's feet.

It's going to take work to convince herself of that, but Gamora's willing to try.

After that, there's nothing to do but watch as her sister takes a ship and flies away – shrinking from view with each passing second. As soon as loneliness starts to sink icy claws into her heart, Gamora returns to the warmth of Peter's arms and looks on with the others as the darkness before them explodes with colour.

* * *

" _What?"_ Peter asks with a small smile as her eyes fix on him, half-expecting the man to crumble into stardust and leave her forever. He doesn't though. He's solid and real, with a heart beating in his chest, and so long as Gamora has a say in the matter that's how he's going to stay.

" _It's nothing,"_ she tells him, though they both know it's a lie. " _It's just some unspoken thing."_

It marks the first time she's acknowledged its existence and for a fleeting moment she feels like she's cut into her chest and exposed her heart, but the pain of doing so ebbs when Peter's arm wraps around her and holds her close. He doesn't demand an elaboration; doesn't insist on the unspoken thing becoming spoken no matter how much he must want it to.

Perhaps it would be easier if he did insist, but then, she doubts she could ever find the words to describe how she feels.

All she knows is that she doesn't deserve him. Sometimes she wonders if she deserves anyone.

* * *

They allow themselves two weeks of quiet time to recover before Rocket starts to get jittery and Drax's desire to kill something simmers indiscreetly. Considering they lost most of their earnings with the Milano, it would be best to start working again, and as much as Gamora and Peter have appreciated the calm, she imagines there's only so much quiet introspection either of them can take. Kraglin helps them set up contact with the Nova Corps on the comms and after a lengthy assurance that their use of a Ravager ship isn't a sign that they've returned to their old ways, Nova Prime starts feeding them information regarding odd jobs throughout the galaxy.

Most are simple in-and-out heists involving the recovery of weapons that would be safer locked up on Xandar, or the retrieval of stolen goods and money. What assailants they encounter are hopelessly outmatched and prone to surrender, which is considerably less entertaining than the prospect of fighting. That said, at the end of the day the Guardians are paid well and the money buys them enough alcohol to fuel several nights' out, so very few of them bother to complain.

Mantis seems to be slowly adapting to her new family. At the very least, her smile is starting to look like one a normal person might have, and though Gamora still shudders involuntarily every time the girl brushes past her, her instincts no longer tell her to break her jaw. Besides, regardless of her history with Ego, Mantis is almost as innocent as Groot so any bitterness is difficult to maintain.

* * *

They manage a month before a job goes south.

A desperate call to aid in the rescue of a prominent Xandarian family taken hostage by Kree outlaws comes minutes too late, and they arrive at the target's home only to find the parents and elder children slaughtered in their beds and a girl barely older than six shrieking as she struggles in her captor's arms. Gamora kills the man without a thought, sending a knife through his throat before he can harm his prey, and tries to be gentle with the weeping child while the others scout the home for survivors. There will be members of the Nova Corps arriving shortly – the Guardians had only been alerted because they were closer to the outpost – but that doesn't stop a burning need to get the girl away from danger from flooding through Gamora's heart.

By the time Peter emerges from the building, face ashen and eyes downcast, Gamora is holding the girl – _Saffia, she'd said between broken sobs_ \- in her arms, and finds herself softly singing one of the Terran songs that's always playing throughout the ship. When she throws a raised eyebrow Peter's way, he responds with a single shake of the head, and Gamora feels ice snaking into her bones. She lifts Saffia as she rises to full-height, and hushes her as choked sobs continue to rock her tiny frame. It isn't lost on Gamora that she was once that little girl, left broken after watching her parents die, and she'll be damned if she denies her any form of comfort she can offer.

They wander back to the ship, dejected. Peter softly pats Saffia on the back and tells her that she's going to be okay while, with Gamora's permission, Mantis lays a gentle hand over the girl's forehead and lulls her into a peaceful sleep. They send word to the approaching Nova Corps that there's nothing left to save and they'll be escorting the girl to Xandar themselves, and they switch off the comms before any protests can emerge from the speakers. Saffia needs help and comfort that armed soldiers cannot offer and the sooner she's away from the broken bodies of her family, the better.

Gamora doesn't once relinquish her hold on their precious cargo. When the girl wakes with a small yawn, her thin arms tighten around Gamora as if afraid to let go, and the only time she seems distracted is when Groot joins them and places a flower in her golden hair. The action draws out a small giggle before Saffia starts to shake with silent sobs once more, and Gamora returns to humming one of Peter's songs to lull her back to sleep.

Something tugs at her heart as they deliver the girl to Nova Prime. They leave only on the condition that Saffia will be cared for and provided with all the help she needs, but Gamora has rarely seen orphans grow up happy and the reluctance that grips her as she turns to leave is suffocating.

Their ship is a very quiet one that night.

Rocket amuses himself by tinkering with some defunct machinery in the flight deck, albeit more quietly than usual and with less tolerance for Groot wandering out of sight. Kraglin takes it upon himself to fly the ship even though their journey could probably be handled by the autopilot, telling anyone who asks that he needs the distraction. Mantis sits by a window and watches the calm stillness of space float by, and Drax joins her as if having sensed her quiet sadness. Though his face gives little away, Gamora knows when she passes him that he's thinking of his own lost family.

She finds Peter lying in his bed, eyes fixed to the ceiling as soft music plays in his ears. He barely reacts when he sees her enter the room, beyond a small smile and a nod when she asks if she can join him. What few beds are present on the Ravager ship are large enough for three men, to accommodate their practice of cuddling together at night, but instead of keeping her distance, she finds herself curling in as close to Peter as she can get without physically touching him. Given that they've already resorted to using each other as pillows in the past, it seems any discomfort that comes with their closeness is starting to leave her behind.

At some point, Peter removes the earphones and carefully places his Zune on the bedside table, but neither of them use the silence as an invitation to speak. Gamora finds her gaze switching between his tired face – focussing on the dark shadows hanging beneath his eyes – and the calm view beyond the window; one that strikes a vast contrast to the brutal emotions that invaded her heart earlier. She becomes aware of green eyes fixing upon her, but the urge to shudder under Peter's gaze doesn't arise, and she merely gives him a weak smile when her own eyes meet his.

"I realised something today," he says eventually, his voice low as if keeping his words between the two of them. "I mean, I guess I must have realised it before, but after today it's like I'm being forced to think about it."

He hesitates as if the words are evading him, and without thinking Gamora finds herself taking one of his hands in her own.

"I'm older than my mom ever got to be," Peter admits, a choked laugh doing little to hide the rising wetness in his eyes. "It's weird. When you're a kid, your mom is this amazing person who knows everything and will always be there when you need her. And my mom _was_ amazing, but she was just a kid. She was a kid who had to raise another kid on her own, because the asshole she fell in love with was so afraid of staying that he put a tumour in her head to make sure he didn't have to."

A warm hand squeezes Gamora's own as if seeking an anchor; some form of comfort she isn't qualified to give.

"That little girl today… she lost everything and we couldn't stop it," he continues, and Gamora realises with a jolt that Peter's blaming himself. Doing so is pointless – there's nothing more they could have done – but she knows she cannot convince him of that when guilt has invaded her mind too. "And I can't stop thinking back to when I lost my mother. It felt like the world was ending; like everything I'd ever known was being torn apart. And we left Saffia to that today. It doesn't matter how safe she is, she's still gonna grow up having lost her family like we did, and we didn't _stop it_."

That nagging sensation in Gamora's heart returns. Logically, she knows that having Groot around is one child too many for their team and that the girl had extended family on Xandar who could ensure she was loved, but that doesn't make having left her behind feel any better. Gamora's been surrounded by orphaned girls since she was ten years old and knows too well the pain that comes with that crushing loneliness.

Seeing that pain bestowed upon yet another innocent is hardly easy to handle.

"Back when… when I was first picked up by Thanos," she starts, the things she hasn't dared tell anyone reluctantly coming forth. Peter's eyes lift, capturing her completely, and somehow knowing she has his attention makes the words come easier. "It wasn't just Nebula and me. He kidnapped dozens of girls from all over the galaxy; tore us from our families and dumped us together in one big room. We had to fight during the day to see which of us were strong, but at night we'd all be together. There'd be moments where there were no guards around and you'd see girls crawling out of bed to comfort those who were crying, and it didn't matter that we barely knew each other because we understood each other's pain. I was constantly made to fight Nebula in the training pits, but not even the guards could have stopped me from holding her when she cried."

A dull ache settles in her chest as she thinks of her sister and of the many ways she failed her over the years. It hits her that as she's been talking, Peter has edged closer, and she can feel his heat battling with the chill of her own skin. He's showered since their botched mission, but she can still smell a hint of blood on him from the home he'd desperately searched. She imagines the stench of death must still be on her too.

"It didn't take long for the girls to start disappearing. Sometimes Thanos would kill them outright during training, but mostly you just started to notice that you hadn't seen someone for a few days and that the beds were getting emptier with each passing night. Girls who had started to call themselves sisters would wake in the mornings to find the other was gone, and the guards would simply beat us if we asked why. Eventually it was only Nebula and I, and even as the years passed, I kept waiting for one of us to vanish like the others."

"Do you know what happened to them?" Peter asks, his tone gentler than she's come to expect from him. She hopes it won't take long for his arrogance and humour returns, as annoying as they can be.

Gamora shakes her head. "We were never told. I prefer to think they're dead because then nothing else can hurt them; but for all I know they could have been sold as slaves, or maybe Thanos has more daughters hidden throughout the galaxy."

"I think he enjoyed our uncertainty. Not knowing what happened to our sisters was just another element of pain he could torture us with."

The silence that follows her words is almost suffocating. The bed they're sharing feels massive, like she could drown amongst the sheets, and she's not sure if she'd rather run away or take Peter into her arms and never let go. She's still very much aware of his hand in hers – a warm furnace heating the cool plates beneath her skin – but she has no urge to pull away.

"We can look for them," Peter suggests out of the blue, his eyes brightening a little, and at Gamora's raised eyebrow he elaborates. "The other girls. We could ask around, follow any breadcrumbs that come up. If any of them turn out to be alive, we can help them like we helped you. Like you helped your sister."

It's a nice thought, one that has warmth simmering beneath her skin, but she shakes her head regardless. "They're probably long dead. And even if they aren't, Thanos will never let us take someone else from him without a fight."

"Then we'll bring your sister," Peter says, and a characteristic smirk returns to his face. After all the pain of the day's events, it's nice to see a smile, and she can't help but return it. "Between her and Thanos, my money's on her."

"Then you're foolishly naïve," Gamora replies, though her smile refuses to waver. She can't deny that the idea of Nebula ridding the universe of Thanos is one she's entertained herself, whenever she's willing to let hope consume her for a little while.

"Okay, I know," Peter concedes with a defeated shrug. "The other girls are probably dead and there's nothing we can do. But if there's even the slightest chance that one of them is out there and needs our help, I promise we'll think of something. Deal?"

The lack of hesitation in his plan has her heart clenching in her chest, and she finds that she cannot speak. What Peter is offering is something she could only have dreamed of as a child; a stranger willing to help a young girl they do not know.

Something impulsive takes over her and she wraps her arms tightly around Peter, ignoring his startled yelp before feeling his chest shudder with laughter, and for once she manages to hug him without feeling like the contact will burn her. She feels his own arms wrap gently around her too – always offering an escape should she want one – and if she closes her eyes and focuses only on his warmth then she can almost pretend that their closeness doesn't frighten her.

"What was that for?" Peter asks as they break apart, though neither of them bother relinquishing their hold on each other's hand. There's a playful smirk pulling at his lips that suggests he knows the answer and just wants to hear her say it, and she has to resist the urge to shove him.

"Nothing," she responds, because she's not sure she has the words to convey the weight of her gratitude. "Just… thank you. For what you're offering to do."

There's a difference between offering to help all those lost girls and being able to act upon it, she knows. If any have survived this long, which is unlikely, she doubts they'll be in the right mindset to accept their help. If anything, they may end up being attacked by the very person they're trying to save. It's a nice idea though, to think that they can liberate another young woman from Thanos's clutches and offer them a freedom that was once beyond reach.

They don't say anything else. The only sounds resonating throughout the room are their soft breaths and the distant groaning of the ship's engines as it calmly flies across the stars. Gamora knows she should get up - find her own bed or stop Rocket from blowing up the ship - but she has little desire to move even when Peter's eyes start to flutter and he drifts into a restless sleep.

Her own exhaustion is setting in too, but she makes no attempt to rest. Instead she simply watches as Peter relaxes and the stress of the day starts to fade from his face. She wouldn't go so far as to say he looks peaceful, especially when she's forced to place a cool hand across his forehead to soothe the creases planted there by a nightmare, but the sight of him eventually calms her into a quiet doze of her own.

It's Rocket who wakes them in the end, as he rummages through Peter's drawers in search of equipment for one of his many projects. When he looks up to see two rather perturbed faces staring down at him, he simply rolls his eyes and wanders out the room, but not before telling them how sickening the sight of them being all 'lovey dovey' is.

His comment has Peter cackling like a madman for a solid two minutes, and much as she detests herself for it, Gamora can't help but join in.

* * *

"Look who I found!"

Peter approaches her with a very proud grin on his face, having wasted what feels like an hour poring over a stall dedicated to toys. Gamora had been happy enough to wait in the background, watching the crowds bustling along the marketplace, but now that their 'mature' captain has returned, she finds herself face-to-face with a tiny green doll.

It's a girl, or at least she assumes it is, with long dark hair and a tiny sword glued to her hand. She has to suppress a smirk once she realises what Peter's insinuating, settling instead for what she hopes comes across as apathy.

"She looks nothing like me," she says, though she does take the doll from Peter's hands in order to study it further. It must have been cheap seeing as some of the paint is already peeling off her plastic clothes, but there is something oddly charming about her. "Why does she have yellow eyes?"

"It was the closest likeness I could get," Peter shrugs, sheepishly. "Figured we could let Groot paint the eyes brown if he's feeling bored."

Gamora lets herself smile at that. She's not sure she trusts the sapling to look after the doll, but considering Groot seems overly attached to her, he might appreciate having a mini-version to play with. Besides, if she imagines the doll with brown eyes, she can start to see the resemblance.

"We'll need to find some for the others as well," she says, as she stows the toy away in her bag and secures it tightly to her waist. "Though I'm not sure Rocket would approve."

Peter laughs at that, a surprisingly musical sound that has her heart singing, and she surprises herself by not pulling away when he takes her hand and starts leading her towards the centre of town. "I'm not sure what he'd think. I bet Yondu would have got a kick out of it though. He was always bringing weird dolls back to the ship."

Gamora looks over to Peter and gives his hand a small squeeze when she notices the sad smile on his face. It's been a few months since his surrogate father's death, and though he seems to have emerged from his grief, that doesn't stop him from thinking about Yondu from time to time. It might have been easier to move on had they gotten around to buying a new ship, but the Ravagers' old home (or what remains of it) has served them well enough that there's no urgency to do so.

As they continue to walk, she lets herself indulge in the variety of sights and sounds and smells that surround her. Their last job paid well enough for them to justify spending the day on one of the less-shady outposts in the quadrant, and the sunny afternoon has brought the local crowds out in droves. They wander past stalls selling silk dresses and fine weapons, children's sweets and engineers' tools. A cacophony of noise surrounds them, from the vendors advertising their deals to the hubbub of the crowds to the slightly drunken singers trying to earn a couple of units, and among the sweaty stench of countless creatures, she can make out the occasional sweetness of perfumes or baked goods.

Gamora makes sure to keep her belongings close by as small children skirt through the crowds (" _Pickpockets_ ," Peter warns her as they notice a young boy studying them intensely from an alley. When she raises a questioning eyebrow at him, he merely shrugs and reminds her that he used to be one himself whenever the Ravagers' sold their goods). She doesn't have much in the way of valuables on her to steal, but she'd rather not be seen angrily chasing a child considering her reputation hasn't been entirely wiped out. Even now, she can feel a prickle on the back of her neck whenever a stranger's eyes linger on her longer than necessary, though any coldness seems to melt when 'Star Lord' gets recognised as well.

She's not sure if it would be better or worse if the others were with them. Rocket, Groot and Drax had wandered to an area dedicated to scrap metal and electrical circuits, while Mantis had been overwhelmed by the emotional stimulation of the crowds and elected to return to the ship with Kraglin. It's probably for the best that they split up; their individual reputations aren't the cleanest as it is without them all being together as an intimidating gang (plus Peter. She's not sure she can call him intimidating).

Not even being two-time Galaxy savers is enough to improve their reputations on some planets.

As they approach the heart of the market, where elegant dancers glide across the cobbles and the singers sound a little more professional, she feels her worry start to fade a little. One look at Peter's face shows that his attention has been stolen by a particularly flexible dancer before being drawn to the man skilfully playing a string instrument at her side. It strikes Gamora as odd that after all his travels, Peter can still be mesmerised by little things, and she curses herself as she files his wide-eyed awe away in her mind. If this continues then it won't be long before she turns into the blushing teenager she never got the chance to be.

Once the dancer finishes her routine and greets the scattered applause with a delicate curtsy, Peter leads Gamora towards a small food vendor, their hands still linked as if fused together. Such prolonged contact should be uncomfortable yet isn't, and she follows him without hesitation before scanning the options on the menu. At her side, Peter gushes about some Terran equivalent called 'ice-cream' and she absently nods along as her eyes take in the different colours of frozen creams before her. Most are named after fruits – some she recognises from her childhood home and at least two she can swear are poisonous – though there are a few which take their flavours from spices or desserts from all over the galaxy. Peter settles for chocolate and their server generously scoops him an entire bowl-full, while Gamora goes for one of the red-tinted options named for the sweet berries she loved as a girl.

There's a quiet seating area surrounding the stall where they decide to eat. From here, she can watch the world go by; creatures from a hundred different planets all exploring the stalls in peace as the bright afternoon sun shines brightly upon them. The heat of the sun is remedied when she swallows a spoonful of her aptly named ice-cream and savours the combination of the berries' sweetness with the blissful coolness. She learns through Peter that wolfing her bowl down is a bad idea, and doesn't bother holding back a devilish laugh as he grimaces after a generous spoonful. Any attempt to appear offended by her enjoyment of his pain quickly fails when his own expression breaks into a smile, and he demolishes the rest of his bowl as though intending to torture himself further.

"You know," he says, once their empty bowls are piled on top of one another and they watch the crowds start to thin with the sinking sun. "If we were more conventional, we could say this was a date."

"We're not on a date," she tells him a little too quickly, though the idea doesn't annoy her as much as it should. The problem lies in the fact that they aren't conventional and never will be, and any opportunities to have days like this to themselves will always be far and few between. It would be best not to put a name to it only to get nostalgic upon looking back.

"I know," Peter says, before returning his attention to the market with a small smile. "But we could be. I mean, if you wanted. The offer's open if you ever want to do something like that."

It's rare that his words will escape him in a manner that doesn't make her want to shove him for his cocksureness, but now there's a hesitation that's almost sweet. It's not the first time he's propositioned something like this and she imagines it won't be the last, but she's secure enough in the knowledge that if she knocks him down with a hard 'no' he'll let the matter slide for the time being.

Besides, it has been a nice day. She's not sure she could endure many of those without being overwhelmed by the itch to kill something, but that doesn't change the fact that she's been able to enjoy his company outside of the confines of combat or their ship.

"I'll keep that in mind," Gamora says as soon as words stop being a stranger to her.

She doesn't miss the way Peter's face brightens at not being rejected outright. It seems they've both been reduced to fools over their unspoken thing.

* * *

Caring for Peter is a mistake; Gamora is aware of this. The brutal reminder of just how massive a mistake is hardly one she needs, but the galaxy decides to throw it her way regardless.

They find themselves under heavy fire as they set about evacuating a village in the process of being raided by Sakaaran outlaws. It's a scenario she's become familiar with, and dodging a hail of blue blasts is as instinctive as breathing as she guides a group of families towards their waiting ship. Occasionally she'll aim her gun towards the source of the shooting and feel victory warm her heart at the sound of her enemies' dying screams, but for the most part her priority is protecting the civilians along with Peter.

Nearby, Rocket is enthusiastically firing at the outlaws' hideout with one of his enhanced blasters, while Drax has made it his mission to storm in and cut the lot of them down himself. Gamora can hear his joyous laughter from several yards away, even over the frantic screams of her charges.

Their ship has barely come into view when yet another voice joins the furore, and Gamora slows the instant she realises it's a crying child. The source is too far away to be among the evacuees, which means there's at least one innocent still trapped in the ruins of the village.

The choice between continuing to escort her charges to the ship or going back to look for the child is stolen from her, as she turns to find that Peter too has noticed the cries and is already heading back into the fray. She yells his name in protest, despite knowing she won't be able to convince him that she should go instead.

Sure enough, the only response she gets is a hurried, "Just go! I'll be with you in a minute."

Cursing his name under her breath, she turns back to the frightened families relying on her and leads the charge towards the ship. Thankfully, the others seem to have succeeded in drawing their opponent's fire away from the civilians, but she finds her head whirling back to their hideout with more frequency than she'd like. Electric-blue charges still rain on the remains of the village from the Sakaarans' weapons, and Gamora feels like her heart leap into her throat when she realises she can no longer see Peter. Her concern for their leader doesn't stop her from doing her job, but the moment she's finished helping Kraglin and Mantis escort the civilians onto the ship, she grabs a fully-charged blaster and throws herself back into the fray.

Every so often, she'll see an enemy's head emerge from the trench surrounding the village, and will fire off a shot with little hesitation. Her enhancements allow her to sense the scorch of blaster-fire and hear them whistle through the air in time to dodge out of the way, and it seems that Rocket and Drax have succeeded in greatly reducing their opponents' numbers, as returning to the village requires less effort than she expects.

The once quaint settlement has been reduced to rubble and ash – an ancient tower in the centre still releasing thick smoke into the atmosphere – and anger grips her when she remembers the six other villages that have been attacked before this one. If she has any say in the matter, their enemy will die before they can set foot in another.

She wanders over fallen bricks and blackened wood and shouts Peter's name as loudly as she dares. The air seems strangely quiet now. The child's wailing has silenced and even Drax's battle-cries seem muffled; the only sound being Gamora's own steady breaths. Her blaster remains held out before her, ready to fire at the slightest hint of a threat, but to her relief the next movement she sees comes from someone wholly familiar.

Peter emerges from the burnt-out shell of a cottage with a tiny girl held in his arms, her head buried in his shoulder as he shields her from the surrounding devastation. He smiles when he sees Gamora and approaches her as quickly as he dares, but it doesn't take long for his attention to become centred on whispering what must be comforting nothings into the little girl's ear.

Deeming it safe to head back, Gamora turns on her heels and wanders towards the outskirts of the village – the uneven rubble beneath her feet slowly being replaced with mud and grass. The relief at seeing Peter and his charge alive barely has time to set in, however, before a whistling blue streak passes her and she's forced to whirl round and fire off several shots towards the source. A choked scream assures her that her attacker is dead, but the moment she turns to check on Peter, she sees another blast approach from behind him.

The next few seconds pass as if in slow motion. The whistle as the light charges through the air is deafening even as the rest of the world quietens, and there's no time to cry out a warning before the blast hits Peter and has his entire body stiffening from the shock. He remains standing just long enough to convince her that maybe he'll be fine; she's certain she's seen him shrug off hits like this in the past, though he wasn't mortal then. Any hope is crushed, however, the instant he crumples to his knees and, in a final act of awareness, collapses onto his back so as not to harm the terrified child in his arms.

Her legs feel like water as she approaches him, and though the child is screaming and shaking Peter like a ragdoll, he remains infuriatingly still.

Peter's never still. Even in his calmer moments he's a fidget, playing with the cord of his earphones or drumming his fingers along the ship's console. He certainly shouldn't be so still when there's a child in danger beside him.

Gamora's forced to fire a frantic blast towards his attacker before finally collapsing by his side.

"It's okay, I need to see him," she says with surprising calm to the girl as she falls to her knees, trying to ignore the hammering of her heart and listen to cool logic. As if sensing the gravity of the situation, the dark-haired child crawls away from Peter, instead settling for taking his hand in her own before fixing Gamora with wide violet eyes. Gamora tries to focus solely on Peter as she places one hand over his mouth to feel for breath and another at the pulse-point on his neck, trying not to flinch at the coolness of his skin nor the lack of breath ghosting against her fingers.

When she places a hand on his chest, she thinks she could sob with relief as she feels a weak flutter. The walls of his heart don't seem to be beating so much as quivering uselessly, but it's enough of an indicator of life that she's willing to let foolish hope grip her. She wastes no time in reaching for her communicator and adorns the most no-nonsense tone she can muster as she yells Rocket's name.

"S'up?" his voice sounds from the other end, sounding far too casual for her liking. At the very least, she hopes that's a sign that they're winning.

"Peter's hurt. I need you to get me a defib and fast," she says, managing to get the words out in record time.

It's a relief when Rocket's response also arrives quickly, the seriousness of the situation not being lost on him for once.

"One a' mine or a normal one?" he asks, and judging by the muffled sounds of movement on the other end of the line, he's already moving towards the ship.

"Normal," Gamora replies, then cuts off any protest before it can arise. "It's Peter, Rocket. I'm not taking any chances."

There's only a second's worth of hesitation before she hears, "Got it. Keep him alive 'til I get there."

He makes that task sound easier than it promises to be. Gamora's skillset lies more in ending lives than prolonging them, but she's familiar enough with how to keep a Terran's heart pumping until help can arrive.

She kneels over Peter and keeps her arms straight, intertwining her fingers before placing her hands on his chest, and starts pressing down with as much force as she can. It's probably too much – at one point there's a crack beneath her hands as a rib breaks – but she knows that being gentle will do him no good. She's not sure how many compressions she's supposed to do before she moves onto breaths, and in her panic she loses count more than once, but as soon as she reaches forty she holds his head back and pinches his nose before blowing two great lungfuls of air into his mouth.

His lips are cold. In all the times her mind has wandered to the point where she imagines what kissing him might feel like, she never imagined that he'd be this cold.

She thinks she sees his chest rise a little with each breath, but as soon as she pulls away he returns to that chilling stillness. No matter; she simply returns to her compressions and tries to focus on nothing else but the numbers running through her head and the weak fluttering of the heart in Peter's chest. It's still struggling away – still fighting – and she's not going to give up on it just yet. She reaches the end of the cycle and breathes for Peter again before returning to her compressions, and pointedly ignores the fatigue setting into her muscles.

She's never been so happy to see Rocket when he scurries to her side, a Xandarian defibrillator held tightly in his arms, and she tries to ignore the evident concern on his face when he takes in their unmoving leader. By this point, Peter's so pale he might as well be a ghost, but Gamora wipes that thought from her mind as she pulls up his shirt and switches on the defib. An annoyingly bright male voice starts walking her through the process, far too slowly for comfort, but she does as she's told and places the two pads on the correct areas of Peter's chest.

"You need to let go of his hand," she says flatly to the little girl, who looks mildly ill as she takes in the state of her saviour. When she doesn't react, Gamora gently takes her hand away from Peter's and wears the comforting smile she usually reserves for Groot. "It's just for a second, okay? Just long enough for the machine to work."

The girl nods before crawling back as per their formless instructor's advice. The voice tells Gamora to press the button and she does so without another thought, trying not to let hope strangle her as a low buzz indicates the shock.

She half-expects Peter to jerk violently, but instead there's only a brief moment where his muscles weakly spasm before he returns to his boneless, unmoving state. Gamora has to resist the urge to shatter the defibrillator into pieces when it brightly tells her to resume compressions; she can wait until after it's saved Peter's life.

She's forced to endure two more cycles of compressions before the machine tells her she can try another shock. Her arms protest in her fatigue and she feels cold dread wash over her as she feels her efforts start to weaken. It doesn't take long for her to begin rambling nonsense, unable to care that she's wasting precious breaths she should be saving for Peter, and every uttered syllable is punctuated with another push on his chest.

" _Breathe,_ damn you, you reckless, arrogant, idiotic _asshole!"_

He doesn't answer her. Gamora thinks that might be the most frightening thing of all.

It's the final proof she needs that she's watching the man she loves die.

She must move in record time when the defib starts up again, checking that the pads are still attached to Peter's chest before warning Rocket and the child to stay back, and she presses the red button with more force than necessary. The spasm grips Peter's muscles once more and she thinks she might break when he stills, but she pushes that urge away and returns her hands to his chest as soon as she's instructed to.

When her fingers land on his skin, Gamora freezes and her own heart goes into overdrive.

She can feel his heart beating. Not fluttering, nor quivering uselessly in a final attempt to hold on. It's _beating –_ a strong, regular rhythm – and she doesn't think she's ever felt anything so wonderful.

"Peter?" she asks hesitantly, bringing a hand to rest on his cheek while the other lingers over his mouth. It takes a while for the adrenaline to wear off just enough for soft breaths ghosting against her skin to resonate, but when they do she releases a broken sob that feels like it's been held back for hours, and her relief only overwhelms her further when green eyes flutter before clenching in pain.

"G'mora?" Peter asks, his voice weak and hoarse yet somehow the best thing she's heard in a while. He tries to sit up, but a pained groan escapes him and his arm comes to rest over the chest she's spent the last few minutes crushing. "Wha' happened?"

"You died on us, you d'asted idiot," Rocket says, punching Peter on the arm with less force than Gamora expects him too. It seems he isn't bothering to hide the sweet relief flooding through him any more than she is.

The words barely have time to sink in for Peter before he's assaulted by a tiny child wrapping her arms around his neck, and though the action elicits a wince, he laughs good-naturedly before patting her on the back. "M'okay kiddo. Can't get rid of me that easy."

Gamora would find it easier to believe that if he didn't seem so fragile even now. Supporting him on the way back to the ship is a chore, as his limbs seem to have stopped listening to his commands and most steps threaten to send him tumbling. At least their opponents' shooting has stopped – Drax must have been able to wipe out what remained – and Gamora feels the weight of her exhaustion and relief catch up with her the instant their waiting ship comes into view; a dark silhouette blocking out the sinking sun.

As soon as they're all aboard, Gamora hangs around just long enough to ensure that the little girl is reunited with her family and Peter is given space to rest, before quietly escaping to one of the bathrooms and locking herself inside. Glancing in the mirror shows dark eyes lined by heavy bags and the drying streaks of tears she hadn't realised she'd shed trailing down her cheek. Her entire body is a grotesque artwork of dust and ash and cuts, and though she spends a good fifteen minutes scrubbing every inch of skin she can reach, she emerges from the shower feeling no cleaner than when she'd entered.

* * *

"You're not allowed to die," she tells Peter plainly that night, trying not to make the statement sound threatening though the fact that she's sharpening her knives probably doesn't help. She senses movement from the man recovering on the bed but resists the temptation to look over for fear that the sight of him will shatter her heart all over again.

Peter's alive and will soon be well. She brought him back.

That doesn't erase the memories of those endless moments where he'd been as good as dead beneath her hands.

"I'm not sure I have a lot of choice in the matter, Gamora," Peter says slowly, like a patient father explaining mortality to a child, and something in his tone makes her want to snap. He must notice this, for his next words sound gentler to her ears. "Not since Ego died, anyway."

And there's the fatal arrow going in. Peter had had the prospect of eternal life flowing through his veins for years without knowing it, and he'd given it all up. For the galaxy. For _them_. Now he's probably the most breakable of them all, besides maybe Mantis, and today has only served as a brutal reminder of that.

She's going to lose him one day - whether it's tomorrow or decades from now - and she can't help but wonder if it would be easier had he not severed his connection to Ego's light.

(Doing so would have led to the destruction of the galaxy, she knows. Selfishly, she finds it difficult to care about that.

At least Peter would have lived).

"Be more careful then," she says, her words flat as if the life has been drained from her as well, and when she dares turn towards Peter she feels his concern come down on her like a crushing weight. She somehow manages to keep her face even, her lips pressed in a tight line, but her calm is entirely feigned and she imagines he knows it.

"We're not exactly good at being careful," he reminds her with that damn smirk on his face, and she has to fight the urge to throw a knife at him. Considering what they're discussing, doing so would be rather counter-productive. "I can try – and I will, I promise – but in the end it's not up to us. Hell, I'm mortal now. I could die if I slip awkwardly in the shower."

Her eyebrows furrow in confusion, and she's about to tell him what a stupid way to die that would be before he holds up his hands and tells her, "I'll try not to be an idiot and slip in the shower, if that makes you feel better."

"It doesn't," she says, more coldly than she intends. It's difficult to unwind, much as she'd like to. Her entire body is coiled like a spring and tension grips her with a dull ache. Perhaps Mantis could help with that, but even after all these months Gamora's unwilling to let her emotions be altered, even when doing so is for her benefit.

She can't help but take in the little details of Peter once again – her habit of studying people returning to her detriment. She sees the dark shadows beneath his eyes and the pallor in his skin that hasn't yet recovered from the greyness that comes with death. She sees the wince he tries so desperately to hide every time he moves as the rib _she_ broke twinges with pain. He's alive, but it's going to take a while before he actually starts to look like it, and if he hadn't almost died while trying to save a little girl then she would be in the process of calling him a fool for the hundredth time.

As it is, she knows that without the stubborn nobility that annoys him as much as it does her, Peter wouldn't really be Peter and she wouldn't care as much as she does, but honestly that's starting to sound like a good thing.

Damn him. And damn herself for (loving) caring about him.

"I forbid you to die," she repeats, and though he sags slightly at the words, his expression remains blessedly sincere. _'Because I love you'_ invades her mind before she can stop it, and she has to chase that thought away before it breaks her.

"It would hurt to lose you," is what she settles on instead, and it seems to get the message across well enough. Even that is revealing too much – exposing her heart until it is raw and frayed under his gaze – but though he must realise this, he doesn't say anything about it. His green eyes pierce her soul, seeing her more clearly than anyone else ever has, and the gaze burns like a spotlight she can't escape.

"I promise I won't die," Peter tells her, ignoring the pain that must radiate throughout his entire frame as he reaches towards her and tenderly squeezes her hand.

Gamora wishes she could believe him.

* * *

Terra ends up being far less of a backwater planet than Gamora expects. It's certainly behind in terms of space-travel and interspecies communication (Rocket, especially, had been aghast at the idea that some humans weren't even able to understand each other) but spending the past week with the likes of Tony Stark in preparation for Thanos's inevitable assault has been enough to assure her that they're slowly catching up.

She's glad to finally be out of the city. All those buildings packed together and the streets filled to the brim with people had been suffocating, and seeing as humans are still unused to visitors from other planets, only Peter had managed to blend in. Even he had struggled a little with their new environment, having missed the last thirty years of his species' evolution, and it hadn't been too surprising when he'd suggested they go somewhere quieter for the day.

As their ship – a quinjet, Stark had called it – pulls up by a golden cornfield and they emerge into the stillness of the countryside, she thinks she recognises her surroundings from Peter's stories. This is Missouri then, the place of his birth.

It's quieter than she imagined, as they stroll along a narrow road towards a village filled with picturesque cottages. Green and gold fields stretch as far as the eye can see, their grasses swaying in the breeze, and it reminds her a little of her own home. She wonders if Peter's heart aches at the sight of it as much as hers does.

As they wander through the village, Peter starts to become more vocal in pointing out places and telling stories associated with them. One official-looking building guarded by a rusty gate is where he went to school; a boarded-up store is where his mom used to collect records and tapes; a small collection of houses at the end of the village is where he lived for the first eight years of his life. He takes her hand as they walk and nods politely to any passer-by who studies them curiously, but eventually his words trail off and he leads her to what he calls a 'park'.

Gamora can't imagine what it must feel like to be back here after all this time. Her own home was burnt on Thanos's command and she is the last of her kind. Unlike Peter, she has nowhere to return to. Though, even if her village and the surrounding forests still existed, she's not sure she could have brought herself to come home after everything she's done.

With his own mother gone, she knows it must have taken Peter a long time to summon the courage to do so himself.

They end up settling on an uncomfortable pair of contraptions called 'swings' and Gamora lets hers gently rock her back and forth while her feet drift across the sandy ground. She sends the occasional glance Peter's way but his mind seems fixed on something from long ago, so she contents herself with watching the workings of the quiet village until he feels able to break the silence.

"When I was a kid, all I ever wanted was to come back here," Peter says finally, and she looks over to see wetness gathering in his eyes. She offers a hand to him and he takes it, conveying his gratitude with a gentle squeeze. "It's strange. I mean, it's barely changed at all, but it feels so different now."

She nods, thinking she understands. Children tend to wear rose-tinted goggles that become clearer with age. "Do you still have family here?" she asks, wondering if the grandparents he sometimes mentions are still waiting for an eight-year-old boy to come home.

"Nah," Peter shakes his head and turns to her with a weak smile. "My grandparents passed a few years back. There's no-one left."

"I'm sorry."

"It's all right," he says, and his smile brightens a little though the grip on her hand remains tight. "I doubt they'd have believed me if I rocked up at their door claiming to be their grandson anyway."

She can't help but laugh at the idea of an unassuming family being forced to hear that their missing grandson spent most of his life as a galactic outlaw. From what she's heard, though, this planet has been forced to witness its fair share of oddities in the last few years as superpowered individuals crawl from the woodwork. Maybe it would have taken less effort to convince the elder Quills of the truth than Peter thinks.

The burning question that's been preying on her mind ever since they landed on Terra starts to bug her all over again – more intensely now that Peter's finally _home –_ and though she's afraid of the answer, she finds herself asking anyway.

"Do you think you'll stay here? On Earth?"

He doesn't say anything for a while, though she can practically hear the thoughts racing through his head. To be fair, any answer he comes up with can only be theoretical at this point. What little data they have predicts the arrival of Thanos and his army within the week, and she's well aware that this moment of peace will soon be interrupted by strategy meetings and last-minute training sessions with the Avengers. In a matter of days, they could all be dead and Peter's world could be the same burnt husk hers had become, but for now she's willing to ignore such thoughts and focus on the 'what-if'.

"I don't think I can," Peter admits, and though she curses herself for it, she feels her heart calming in its relief. "This isn't home anymore, not really. I could try to fit back in but I'd probably be bored after a week." He chuckles softly, though his smile doesn't quite meet his eyes.

"Besides, out there with you lot," he continues, nodding towards the endless blue sky. "That's the only home I need."

Something mad grips Gamora then and she leans over to press a soft kiss to his cheek. His response is little more than a surprised grin, but she's never really needed words to know how he feels. He's happy, and for this small moment, she can convince herself that she is too.

"We should probably head back before Rocket steals that Bucky-guy's arm," she says in order to avoid dwelling on what she's just done. Her words have the desired effect of making Peter laugh, and she tries not to mourn the loss of his hand when he lets go and rises to his feet.

"Yeah, we probably should," he admits, before shaking his head as another laugh claims him. "I can't believe we're working with Captain America and Bucky Barnes. I used to read comics about those guys years ago. Though they always made Bucky ten years old for some reason."

"Maybe he was back then?" Gamora suggests as they wander out of the park and head towards the village square. She's not entirely sure what the comics he's referring to are, but if they date back to when he was a child then they must be fairly old.

"I don't think America would have sent children into battle during World War Two," Peter responds, and she lightly punches him on the arm to wipe the amused smirk from his face.

"Why not?" she asks teasingly, though she doesn't doubt that he has the right of it. "I was a child soldier, remember?"

"Fair point," Peter concedes, and his smile softens a little. "I heard someone say Bucky hasn't changed much since the war though, besides the arm and the hair. I think we can assume he wasn't a ten-year-old."

Gamora hums in agreement, wondering if she should find some of these 'comics' so she can more-fully understand what Peter's talking about. That can wait until the oncoming war is won, however.

It's a while before either of them speak up again, though she notices that the route they're taking is not the same as before. The buildings they pass are unfamiliar, and before long Peter draws to a halt outside a store displaying flowers of various kinds, all carefully prepared in bouquets. She wonders if she should ask why he's stopped, but the expression on his face is an uncharacteristically solemn one so she elects to give him peace instead.

"You can head back to the ship if you want," he says, as if sensing her thoughts. "I was just thinking… the cemetery's nearby, where my grandparents and mom are buried. I should get them some flowers and tell them why it's taken so long to visit."

He smiles as soon as the words leave his mouth, but Gamora doesn't miss the newly rising wetness in his eyes and she takes his hand once more. She's never really been good at this – at comfort – but even that small action seems to help and she notices the crinkles around his eyes as the smile becomes genuine.

"Do you want to do this alone?" she asks, because though she's prepared to go back and wait in the ship if he wants her to, she's unwilling to leave him if he needs support.

It doesn't surprise her when he shakes his head, and as she tightens her grip on his hand, he seems to relax a little. Gamora's content to stay; if this is the last good day either of them ever get, there are worse ways to spend it than with each other.

She waits outside the store while Peter goes in to buy flowers to lay by his mother's grave, and finally lets herself imagine the possibility of them winning against Thanos. She hasn't heard from Nebula in a while, but she knows in her heart that her sister is out there somewhere; that there's still a chance she will get her wish and see her oppressor die at her hands. And seeing as Peter has chosen their ragtag family over the home in which he was born, she can picture them spending the rest of their days flying among the stars and saving the galaxy whenever it needs them.

Today could be their last good day, or it could be the first of many more. For now, she's willing to let herself hope for the latter.

She doesn't realise she's smiling until Peter emerges holding a bouquet of white lilies, and though it should annoy her when he gives her his own dumb grin, it doesn't.

She takes his free hand and lets him guide her to where his family rests. Their silence is strangely comforting despite the bittersweet act Peter's about to carry out, and it surprises her when he breaks it.

"I love you too, by the way."

She looks at him without bothering to hide her confusion, though his words do have the desired effect of making her heart race. Despite the fact that he's always been the more open of them both, Gamora realises that this marks his first time saying the words out loud and a part of her desires to hear him say it over and over until the end of time.

"I didn't say it yet," she points out, and it'd be difficult to miss Peter's smirk at her use of the word 'yet'. She doesn't bother to appear annoyed by his response; her word choice was deliberate after all. She's not sure when she'll ever be able to say the words aloud, but she's been acknowledging them as truth in her mind for well over a year so it must only be a matter of time.

"You don't need to say it," Peter says, squeezing her hand as if to reassure her.

Her silence on the subject doesn't matter; he knows how she feels. He's always had a habit of seeing her more clearly than anyone else, and she supposes there was no way she could keep something so massive locked away considering her protective barriers came crashing down upon joining the Guardians.

Peter loves her and she knows it. He knows that she loves him too.

Maybe there's no need for her to admit it out loud.

* * *

That notion doesn't stop her from saying the words as soon as Thanos's army descends from the skies mere days later, and any terror she feels crumbles as a blissful weightlessness fills her heart.

(At least she has this one victory over Thanos; he never was able to harden her heart)


End file.
